


Give the Man a Hand

by Greenie (hidetheteaspoons)



Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith, Strike (TV 2017)
Genre: F/M, Horny!Corm, Masturbation, More tags to come (heh), Robin's scarf smells good, don't want to give too much away
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-18 19:28:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29248797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hidetheteaspoons/pseuds/Greenie
Summary: After she changes in his flat, Strike notices Robin's scarf. This sets off a string of unpredictable events that he hopes will lead Robin straight into his bed...and his heart.
Relationships: Robin Ellacott/Cormoran Strike
Comments: 28
Kudos: 35





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Just a smutty, steamy fic born from a very specific gif...enjoy!

Cormoran Strike had never, in their years-long partnership, thought about Robin Ellacott in an overtly sexual manner. Of course, he'd admired her from a distance, as men are wont to do. He'd be lying if he said he'd never allowed his gaze to linger a few seconds too long on the generous curve of her arse as she bent over to pick up her pen off the floor. Or, that he'd never flicked his gaze at the swell of her breasts in an uncharacteristically tight undercover outfit. Or, that he'd more than appreciated the sassy, yet confident swivel of her hips, the arching of her back, and the thrust of her breasts when she'd first modeled that poison green dress for him in the upscale Vashti. Every time she'd worn it since had nearly been his undoing. After seeing her in it, he longed for nothing more than to go home, settle beneath the covers, and make himself come to the thought of Robin, modeling...for him, showing off...for him, coming undone...for him.

Yet, something deep within him had always managed to pull himself back from the edge. There had only been a handful of women in his life, and for all of them, he either felt respect, attraction, or love, or some combination of the three. But never all three at once. At least, not until Robin. As much as he wanted nothing more than for her name to cross his lips in a moment of release, he held her in too high of a regard. The guilt would surely plague him for as long as they were partners and best mates. Though, part of him wondered if she could ever feel even the slightest bit of attraction toward him in return. 

As Strike considered all of these things, he was suddenly overwhelmed by her presence within his flat. All the other times he'd found her beautiful or sexy, he'd been able to keep the wall between them; _This far and no further._ He'd gone home and forgotten her smell, and the memory of her curves in the figure-hugging dress had become a dim memory. However, today was different. 

Today, she had invaded his personal space, and she was _everywhere._ It had started out simply enough. She'd asked to change in his flat, which had a bit more room than the loo on the landing outside of their office. In turn, she'd left her original clothes behind, her holdall sitting open with articles of clothing haphazardly coming loose from the top of it. 

Strike sat on his bed and gripped the edge of the mattress until his knuckles were white. The open bag in the corner was taunting him and he wasn't sure how long he'd be able to stand it. The smell of flowers, and mint, and a smell that was so distinctly _Robin_ permeated the room and teased his senses. With his eyes closed, he took in a deep breath, and relaxed his grip slightly. He allowed himself to give in to his surroundings. To give in to her.

He could smell the Narciso he'd bought for her on her clothes. Strike felt a stirring in his groin when he thought of the night he'd bought it for her. He'd surprised her by choosing it, though pleasantly so, he liked to imagine. The kiss on his cheek, the feel of her pressed against him, and the knowledge that she'd be wearing ‘his’ perfume from then on had nearly knocked the wind out of him. 

Strike carefully considered the places she might spray the Narciso - in the warm, creamy hollow of her neck, on the insides of her wrists, between her breasts…he groaned, overcome with a desire he'd not experienced in quite some time. With a sigh, he leaned back on the bed, allowing his feet to remain against the floor as his back came in contact with the mattress.

At the moment, he felt his already hardened length continue to expand beneath the zip of his trousers, pressing and straining for release. He refused. Strike could think about anything but her...and yet…if he just got it out of his system, he imagined that he'd be able to concentrate around his partner once and for all. 

Strike’s hand wandered down to his burgeoning erection as he gently palmed himself through his trousers. Even the slightest bit of pressure felt like a tease, and he winced at the touch. Shaking his head and pulling his hand back, he forced himself to sit up. He needed a distraction...anything to dull his senses, or something else to focus on. His eyes were immediately drawn back to Robin’s holdall in the corner. At the very top, he saw the floral scarf she’d been wearing when she first arrived at the office. Its color and apparent softness beckoned him. 

With a groan of stiffness, Strike stood and wandered over to the corner, looking down at the black holdall. After a brief moment of deliberation, he bent down to Robin’s bag and gingerly picked up the silky scarf in his large hand. It was one of her favorites. The years of wear were evident; some pilling on one side, a tear or two around the edges, and a particular softness from many washes. 

He ran the worn fabric through his hands. Robin filled his senses; her touch, her smell, her everything. Strike turned on his heel, heading back to his bed, with the full knowledge that what he was about to do would change the way he thought about his partner, for the rest of his life. He laid back, fully clothed, against the bed, his mind wandering to all the places it wanted to go, and even to some places he hadn’t expected it to go. The internal battle for self-control was a battle that Strike had already resigned to lose.

_Deliberation be damned,_ he thought. Strike knocked off his shoes and unfastened the zip of his trousers, allowing them to drop to his ankles. With increased urgency, he kicked them off, along with his boxers. His cock was erect and stiff, and he winced as he bent down to remove his prosthesis and his socks. Sliding his shirt over his head, he tossed it anywhere and leaned back, allowing himself unrestricted freedom to sprawl out across his bed. 

The scarf was just within his reach as Strike settled into a comfortable position. He reached for it and brought it up toward his face, inhaling the seductive scent of flowers, and sunshine, and Narciso. Despite what he presumed to be many washes, it still smelled just like her. He nestled it against his pillow, permitting his hand to wander down to his hardened length. Strike was significantly harder than he’d been only a few moments prior.

He needed friction, and he needed it now. Rolling over on his stomach, Strike lay for a moment, considering the idiocy of what he was about to do. Pushing the thought from his mind, he continued, and lifted himself up onto his knees and elbows the best he could. He sighed as he ground against the duvet cover, his hips moving at a painstaking pace, but the friction against his cock was just what he needed. He moaned, aching for relief as he moved against the bed, pressing his pelvis into the softness he found there. Though the feel of the fibers rubbing against his shaft brought some relief, it still wasn’t enough. He needed _more._ After a few final thrusts, he rolled over on his back, his cock jutting out proudly into the air.

He took himself firmly in hand and gasped at the warmth of his palm around his cock. A warmth that came from clutching Robin’s scarf tightly in his hand. She was always doing that; warming him in some way. Whether it was a pang of affection that shot straight to his solar plexus, inadvertently resting her leg near his as they rode in the Land Rover, or now, warming the hand that grazed his sensitive length. His mind relaxed, and Strike allowed himself to consider all the possibilities of what could happen between them.

He thumbed the drop of pre-cum that had formed on his engorged cock and swiped it down his shaft, adding a touch of slickness to his ministrations. It wasn’t nearly enough to be satisfying. Strike growled and rolled to his side, hastily yanking his nightstand drawer open. Fumbling amongst the stray coins, receipt papers, unopened condoms, and other odds and ends, he finally grasped the bottle he was so desperately searching for. In one swift movement, Strike ripped the cap off with his teeth and squeezed a bit of lube into his open palm. With the opposite hand, he threw the bottle across the room and with a grunt, brought his now slick hand to meet his cock. 

Strike shivered at the now cool feeling of his palm and began to stroke himself once again. He threw his head back hard against his pillow, reveling in the feel of the slow, slippery pace with which he touched himself. He felt months of tension release from his body, even in simply guiding his fist along his shaft. He had been wound tight as a coil for months, but a sense of relief passed over him as he finally indulged in the fantasy he’d been holding inside for so long. The fantasy didn’t involve a specific situation, or position, or outfit. It was just her - just Robin - as she was; beautiful, intelligent, kind. She was his fantasy and the only one he wanted to think about. 

He thought of all the times that he’d felt... _something_ pass between them; an intimacy that surpassed that of any sexual encounter he’d ever had. From the day when she’d first worn the green dress, to the kiss he’d placed against her hand after making her partner, the accidental kiss at the hospital, and the hug they’d shared on the steps at her wedding. Finally, the moment on her birthday when she’d kissed him on the cheek, lips to stubble, and the feel of her body pressed against his in an embrace, a ‘thank you’ for the gift he’d bought for her. The gift that now permeated his senses, from the scarf that lay against his pillow. 

How he wished it was her. He only wanted her; mind, body, and soul. But it wasn’t the time. For now, he settled for what he could have - the _idea_ of her. So, with his head back and eyes closed, Cormoran thought of Robin. He thought of her porcelain skin as it brushed against his own when they looked over a case file together. He thought of the curve of her breasts in loose, silky shirts, especially in the summer, when she undid the top button for some bit of relief from the heat. He thought of her legs in slim-fitting skirts and black pumps for her undercover office cases. He thought of her when she went home and took a long hot shower after a hard day of surveillance, and imagined her all scrubbed up, pink, and kissable-looking. He thought of how she might look in the mornings after a night of torrid love-making, hair a mess, eyes tired, covered in hazy sunlight. 

As he continued to pump his fist over his rigid length, his thoughts turned more sinful. He thought of her on her knees before him, her head moving back and forth as she took him in her mouth, gazing up at him with all the love and affection in the world. He thought of her pert breasts moving vigorously above him as he pounded into her from below, grasping her hips, pulling her down for an obscene kiss. He thought of how she might feel against his cock, so warm, and wet, and waiting for him. He thought of her pressed beneath him, her nails digging deep into the skin of his back, marking him, and claiming him as her own. He thought of the sounds she’d make as she came apart beneath him, as he filled her over, and over, and how she’d grip him and ride out the tidal wave of her orgasm with him buried deep in her soft, sweet cunt. 

Strike was close now. He could feel the base of his spine tingling and heat coiling at his pelvis. In a sudden rush of friction, he strengthened his grasp on his shaft and moved faster, getting lost in the intensity of it all. He was suddenly brought back to reality when the smell of Robin’s scarf filled his senses once more. He turned his face toward it, practically burying his nose in the soft, floral fabric. As he did so, the sudden rush of his orgasm overcame him and he surrendered to it.

“ _Fuck!”_ he bit out in a strangled voice. “ _Fuck...Robinnn,”_ he cried, trying to keep his voice to a low whine as he jerked his hips up into his fist twice and finally came with a force he hadn’t felt in a long time. He came up and over his fist, grunting as streaks of hot cum painted his belly and chest, settling into the thick hair there. He shook and shuddered as he rode out his orgasm and fell boneless against the duvet cover. In the post-orgasmic fog, Strike closed his eyes, and his chest heaved as he attempted to catch his breath. Once his heart rate had slowed, he reached for a nearby towel to clean himself and threw it into a hamper by the door. 

He reluctantly got up to wash his hands and donned a new pair of boxers before settling back into bed. So exhausted and overwhelmed was he, that he rolled onto his side and fell asleep immediately, failing to notice the ocean-blue eyes and flick of red-blond hair that had been at his door only moments before his sweet release.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robin lets Strike in on a secret, and the infamous scarf makes another appearance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our two idiot lovebirds finally realize how much they want each other - but they're not together yet! Stay tuned!

Strike sucked in a breath as he reached for the phone, his hands slightly trembling as he held the familiar, well-worn scarf. The gift bag had long since dropped to the floor, discarded without a second thought. There was only Strike, and the knowledge he now bore - Robin had seen him that day weeks ago, when he'd had the most intense orgasm of his life. He'd been spurned on by the smell of her, and the feel of her scarf against his skin, and the thought of her beneath him, burying himself within her over and over…

She knew. She'd seen and heard everything, from the feral grunts and groans, to the way he'd pressed his face into her scarf, to the desperate way with which her name so naturally rolled off his tongue as he came, long and hard. 

Strike's hand with his phone fell limp in his lap, and he threw his head back, sighing in frustration. He'd been so careful not to allow those thoughts of Robin to enter his mind for so long. So of course, the one time he tried and failed miserably, she'd seen him. _Why hadn't she said anything sooner? What did the return of the scarf mean? She couldn't possibly…_

_She could._ She was Robin, after all, so intelligent and intuitive, so kind, and so lovely. A thought crossed Strike's mind and he sat up with some sense of urgency. _She'd put the ball in his court...she'd given him a ticket that was a one way trip straight to her…_

_She wanted him as much as he wanted her._

Grasping his phone and breathing quickly now, he hit the button to automatically call her. After three rings, it clicked and her smooth, honey-toned voice filled his ear, and his heart leaped and then settled heavily into his chest.

“Hi,” she murmured, Strike soaking up the single-syllable greeting at once.

He paused, letting a brief silence pass between them, before he somewhat regained his composure.

“Hi,” he responded, feeling the reverberation of his deep voice against his own cheek.

_More silence._

“I suppose you-”

“Robin, I-”

They started at the same time, accidentally speaking over one another. Robin let out a soft laugh and Strike chuckled in response, though was eager to get his thoughts out in the open.

“Go on, then,” she encouraged, her warm, sultry tone washing over him.

“Your gift…” he trailed off, allowing the quiet to fill in the gaps he'd left.

“Yes?” Robin breathed.

“You...you saw me that day? You saw…”

“Everything, yes,” she replied quickly, though with a confidence he'd not heard from her before.

“I take that to mean you heard everything as well?”

She nodded silently into the phone, but she didn't need to tell him. He already knew.

“So, this means…” he trailed off, lost in the memory of the last time he’d held her scarf in his hands.

“I wanted you to have it...in case you could, you know...make _use_ of it again.”

“I see.”

_A pause._

“Do you _want_ me to make use of it again? Because...I’d very much like to. With your permission, this time.”

He heard her release a quiet gasp into the phone. “Y-yes,” her voice wavering only slightly. “I want that.”

Cormoran did everything he could to bite back a growl of approval, and he was sure it came across as more of a choking sound than anything. He felt his cock twitch in his trousers at the thought of coming with his face buried in her scarf once more. It was the next best thing to having her. 

“Cormoran, I…” she continued, though he could sense the hesitation in her tone.

He leaned back and waited patiently for her to complete her sentence, but she never did. After another moment of silence, he encouraged her to continue. “What is it?”

“I want you to do it now.”

He was stunned, unsure if he’d heard her correctly. “What?”

“I want you to use my scarf, like you did a few weeks ago. I want you to do it right now, while we’re on the phone. I want to hear you say my name.”

Strike hissed out an involuntary “Fuck me.” He leaned forward and placed his elbows on his knees, with the phone still to his ear. “Robin, I don’t...are you sure? I’ve never…”

“Me neither,” she responded immediately. “But yes, I’m sure. Cormoran, that night when I got home and thought about what I’d seen, thought about you, it was...incredible. I felt guilty for seeing you in that state, for not telling you what I’d seen, and then for acting on it.”

“If anyone should feel guilty, it’s me, for so many things. Not locking the door, not stopping when I should have, not paying closer attention. I’m sorry for that.”

“I’m not sorry it happened. I guess I just wanted you to know...the feeling was, _is_ very mutual.”

“Tell me what you want, Robin. Tell me what to do. I’m yours.”

“Do you want me to…” she trailed off, sounding slightly embarrassed. 

_‘God yes,’_ Strike thought to himself. But he knew he had to take this slow with her. “I want you to do whatever feels comfortable...whatever feels good to you.”

“I...I want to try,” she told him. 

Strike was elated by her willingness. “I want to try with you. I’m here, Robin. If you want to stop at any time, just tell me, yeah?”

“Yeah, alright.” she agreed, and he swore he could hear the cheeky grin in her voice. “Why don’t you mute the phone, so you can get settled,” she suggested. “I’ll do the same.”

Strike complied immediately. Once again, he found himself on his bed, as he had all those weeks ago. Once again, he was thinking of her, and this time, she knew. She knew, and she’d given him her approval. She wanted him too. Strike shivered in anticipation as he shucked his trousers, removed his prosthesis, and kicked his boxers to the side. He yanked his shirt over his head and pulled back the covers, crawling in quickly so as to minimize the cool air against his half-hard cock. 

After propping his head up with several pillows, he laid back and turned his bedside light down low. He reached for her scarf that lay in the middle of the bed and brought it closer, resting it on the pillow beside him. Picking up his phone, he unmuted it and brought it to his ear. “Robin?”

“I’m here,” she said quietly...sweetly. “I can’t believe this is happening. This isn’t at all how I imagined it.”

Strike chuckled to himself, then took her meaning to heart. “You imagined us together?”

“Yes. More than I should have,” she laughed gently.

“Me too. I...I looked at you,” Strike confessed. “More than I should have. When we were in the office.”

“I know,” she replied in a cheeky tone. 

“You know?”

“You’re not very subtle, Strike.” 

“Fucking hell,” he replied, growling at his own stupidity.

“I liked it, you know. It reminded me that I was still a woman who could be wanted. Though I never thought you _actually_ wanted me that way.”

“That’s where you couldn’t be more wrong…” Strike trailed, his breath nearly trembling just _thinking_ about how much he wanted this woman. “Why don’t you tell me how you imagined things?” he encouraged her, settling back against the pillows. 

“Mmm,” she hummed into the phone. He could hear her settling in too, as the rustle of her duvet met his ear. “I always just imagined that it would be such an easy thing with you. We’d have a moment, on surveillance, or in the office, or at the Tottenham, and that moment would just set off a chain reaction...and it would just feel so natural, like we’d been together forever. Sorry, I realize I sound like a madwoman.”

“Not at all,” Strike responded kindly. “There have been many ‘moments’, you know,” he told her. _A pause._ “Moments when I thought I couldn't stand it any longer. Moments when I...there were _so_ many moments, Robin.”

“Tell me,” she gasped, her voice shaking into the phone.

“I wanted to hold your hand when you told me about your attack. I wanted to call you and apologize after I sacked you, beg you to come back. I wanted to hold you forever on the stairs at your wedding. Things grew to be physical over time. I didn't want to stop kissing you that night in the hospital car park. I wanted to dance with you the night you wore your dress. I wanted to take you home and make love to you on your birthday.”

He heard her sharp intake of breath at his admission. “Why didn't you?”

That was easy. “Thought you deserved better. Didn't think you'd want someone like me.”

He heard a sniff in response and a soft laugh. “That's where you couldn't be more wrong,” she replied, echoing his words from only a few moments prior. 

His heart could have beat right out of his chest at her words. “ _God,_ Robin. I want you so much.”

“I know, me too. But for now…”

“For now…” He trailed off. 

“We have this, and the promise of something more to come.” He could once again hear the smile in her voice as she spoke. After a moment, she spoke again, this time her voice was low and husky. “I'm wearing your birthday present…” she ventured.

“Hmm?” In the cloud of his thoughts, it took Strike a moment to catch her meaning. “Oh...you mean…”

“It's all I'm wearing, Cormoran.”

Her words were like lightning to his cock, and he instantly hardened, a small tent forming beneath the duvet. 

“ _Christ,”_ he swore, as his hand automatically gravitated downward to relieve his painfully swollen member. 

“Was that really the first time you'd thought about me?” She purred, inquiring of his previous ministrations that she'd witnessed.

“Yes,” he choked as he slowly pumped against his shaft. 

“Tell me what you thought about,” she requested sweetly.

Strike hesitated. 

“Please? If you're willing. I want to hear.”

He cleared his throat. ”I thought about all the times I wished that something more had happened between us. I thought about you in your green dress, when you dressed up as Bobbi and Venetia, and about how you might look having been freshly-showered or freshly-fucked.”

Strike was moving faster now, at the thought of shower-soft Robin standing naked before him. Strike closed his eyes and imagined her delicious curves, each one ready and waiting to be sampled by him. The idea of her crawling over top of him and riding him to completion was nearly doing him in. 

Then, Robin's voice cut through his musings. “What are you thinking about now?”

“You...Robin. Only...you,” Strike bit out between groans. “What are you thinking about?”

“Having you between my legs,” she told him, unashamed, and she released a long sigh into the phone. He knew she was touching herself. 

“What am I doing?” he asked, helping her build her fantasy. He grasped his cock a little more loosely and slowed his rate. He didn’t want to rush her...he wanted to help her chase her pleasure as much as he wanted to chase his own.

“Tongue...mouth…so wet…” Robin groaned, practically unintelligible in Strike’s ear. He could hear the faint buzzing of what he hoped was a vibrator... _God_ she never failed to surprise him in new ways.

He laughed softly at her response, “I bet you taste so good...want to know what you taste like…” he replied, closing his eyes, imagining her wet and ready, legs spread open wide before him. 

“Cormoran...I’m so wet...need you…”

“You have me, Robin, I’m here,” he told her, sighing at the feel of his palm against his shaft. “Put me on speaker so I can hear you.” She obeyed immediately, and he did the same. 

“That’s better,” he husked, reaching for the bottle of lube in his side drawer that had been neglected since the night that started all of this. “Tell me what you’re doing.”

“I’m...there’s a toy…”

“I can hear it.”

Things were quiet for a moment. 

“Don’t be embarrassed, Robin. I want you to do whatever brings you pleasure. If that’s what does it, then there’s no need to be ashamed. What do you have?”

“A vibrator. It’s...I...I got lonely. There hasn’t been anyone since…”

“Shh, you don’t have to explain. Let me help you, please?” Strike practically begged. He so badly wanted to hear his name on her lips.

“Yes,” she gasped, “It's on my clit, moving it in circles...imagining it's you…”

Pouring a generous amount of lube onto his palm, he grasped his shaft once more, and groaned at the suddenly wet feel against his sensitive length. “Thinking about how much I wish you were here.” Suddenly, he remembered her gift and reached for the familiar floral scarf. “Remembering how good you smell...the smell that I picked just for you. God, Robin. It's so, so good.” But he wasn't talking about the smell anymore. He was talking about everything - hearing her pleasure herself over the phone, listening to her soft cries and moans of delight, thinking about being buried deep within her. It was all so, so much.

“I want you inside me, Cormoran.”

“I know, I know. Put two fingers inside for me, Robin.” He heard her cry out at the sudden feeling of fullness within her. Strike could hear her fingers moving within her, slippery and sodden, her juices creating a symphony of sounds in his ear. 

“ _Fuck,_ I can hear you. You sound so wet,” he murmured into a particularly loud groan. 

He heard her hum in response. Gripping her scarf in one hand and his throbbing dick in the other, he picked up his rhythm and settled into a steady pace. “Circle your clit again, I want to hear you come for me.” 

Robin was panting now and steadily approaching the precipice. She let out a needy whine that spurned him on. “Cormoran I want...my scarf…” 

“What is it, what do you need?” 

“Want you to come...scarf…” she gasped out, nearly inaudible.

Oh. _Oh…_

This was a whole level of intimacy that Strike had never known. Engaging in the actions they were taking was one thing, but bringing himself to completion on a very physical thing that represented Robin was...something else entirely. 

“I don’t...I’m not…”

“ _Please…”_ she choked, sobbing his name, “Cormoran, _please_. I’m so close…”

That was it. That was all it took. At that moment, he would have done absolutely anything for this woman. The hand holding Robin’s scarf rose to meet his cock as he tunneled toward his orgasm. His hand clamped around the scarf as he thrust up into it, growling at the unexpected, yet not unwelcome friction it brought. 

“Corm…” Robin whimpered, unable to form his entire name. 

“I know...me too,” he groaned, as he imagined the look on her face; mouth open wide, cheeks flushed, eyes closed in fierce concentration. “Come for me, Robin. Let me hear you.”

Then he heard it, the unmistakable stutter in her breath as she froze and then shattered to pieces. “Cormorannn,” she cried out to him, moaning and breathing heavily as she rode out the aftershocks. 

“ _Fuck,”_ he swore, “Robin, I’m gonna... _ **fuck**_!” He gave himself over to his release. He gave himself over to her, and only her. Following a final _hard_ thrust, he spilled over onto her scarf, coating the floral pattern in a thick layer of his cum. He thrust up against the fabric a few more times, murmuring her name between the choked grunts of his orgasm. His hips slowed and his head fell back against the bed. His eyes fluttered closed and there was a quiet that passed between them. Neither of them spoke for several moments, until finally he came back to himself and was nearly coherent enough to form words.

He hummed in satisfaction. “Mm, you still there?” he asked, turning his head toward his phone.

“I’m here,” she confirmed, sounding as sleepy and sated as he felt. 

“You okay?” his voice rumbled, deep within his chest. 

“Yeah, more than.”

“So that was…”

“...Amazing,” she offered.

“I agree,” he replied, his voice full of reverence. 

“Did you do what I asked you to do?” she asked, somewhat shyly. 

“I did.”

“And how was it?” she ventured.

“It was perfect. The only thing that could have made it better, was you.”

He heard her sigh, and heard the rustle of her covers in the phone. “I don’t want to hang up yet. Will you stay on until I fall asleep?”

A shot of warmth and affection for her bloomed within Strike’s chest, and he suddenly had the desire to hold her close. For now, he settled for surrounding himself in her scent that covered his pillows, and her slow, rhythmic breathing that fell in time with the beat of his heart.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Find me on Tumblr @thegreendress.


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